You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?))
Rogar clears his throat, trying to hide a sigh. "What story do you need exactly? I'm here on business and prefer to keep things as such," he says, quietly. "I've three other stops to make this afternoon. You were the order of 15 ingots of thrice-folded iron, yes?"
The elderly woman politely smiles. "Yes, that is all."
"Excellent. Now, regarding cost " - he switches to a more practiced tone - " unfortunately, the trip here was slower than anticipated due to inclement weather which delayed delivery. While the Boffin Undersmithery understands that this is an inconvenience " - he takes a quick breath, but is cut off before resuming.
"Yes, yes I'll pay the extra fee despite having absolutely no control over the weather in my area," says the scrupulous merchant.
Rogar almost cracks a smile. "Thank you ma'am" he replies and stamps the partially torn receipt with confirmation of sale. "Now, where would you like the goods?"
....
